A Long Long Night
by Qibli03
Summary: The night Nick gets arrested. Rated M because I want to be safe. Obviously there's drug in the topic, and a few 'naughty words' as my three year old calls them, might have slipped in between regular words.
1. Chapter 1

The policeman was reciting the Miranda Warning, but Nicholas Fallin was barely listening. His eyes were searching the living room where the remains of a coke party were being examined by other members of the Allegheny police. Still very high from cocaine and a few drinks–how many lines had he snorted that night? How many tequilas had he drunk ? - the young man was unable to fully take what was happening.

The cop shook him and he came round, just in time to let an 'ouch' come out from his mouth when the handcuffs were clicked close – he had never been that brave, but he had always succeeded keeping that side of his personality well hidden from everyone else, especially from his father….

'Oh God! How am I going to hide this mess from him?' That thought made Nick worry, at last. 'Oh God! What have I done? My dad's gonna kill me!'

'Hey, man! Do you have a lawyer?' asked the policeman. Nick could just not focus, his mind fogged by the substances he had indulged with that night, and he replied without thinking 'I _am_ a lawyer!'. 'Criminal?' 'No. Corporate.' The cops laughed and one of them just managed to slur 'We mean a criminal one, kid. You provided all of these party treats to your friends, man. You're facing a long, long sentence.'

Nick knew that the Firm, the one he had worked so hard for, the one founded by his dad, hired a few top criminal lawyers, but the drugs and the panic he felt as the truth slowly sank in him affected his memory and he could not answer the question. He just shrugged and let the cop who had cuffed him drag him out. He hoped, as the clock had stricken 2am a while ago, that none of his neighbors would see him being arrested, but the neighborhood leader of the gossip pack, of course, was there to watch the entire scene, just worrying she had to wait for 6 hours at least before she could spread the news. Nick could not look at her, and he, once again, thought about calling his father.

At the police station everyone looked pretty amused by the fact of having arrested the very end of the legal system the police despised and, perhaps, envied. The rich guy, the one who usually broke the jailbirds' cages, the lawyer, was right in front of them, ready to enter one of those cages. Nick, who was coming out of his drug induced daze, started worrying. He was going to end up in jail. For real. Whatever the results of the investigation, he was going to spend at least a night in the county jail. How was it going to be?

At the police station, no one was really nasty, but no one was really kind either. They dragged him to a room where his mug shots were taken, than to a different area where a large cop took his fingerprints. Finally, he was notified he would soon be transported to the county jail. Right before living, a nicer cop, maybe a few years younger than his dad, asked him if he had either a girlfriend or a close buddy. Nick shook his head. 'Are your parents still alive?' went on the cop. 'Just my dad, but I'd rather not call him.' The cop put his hand on the young lawyer's shoulder. 'Sonny, believe me, you are going to need all the help you can get. Call your dad. The phone is right over there. I know it's not gonna be easy, but you'll need to tell him eventually, anyway!'

Nick exhaled, but headed to the phone and, feeling sweaty and clammy, dialed the number in Squirrell Hill. The older, kinder cop smiled at him, as the phone rang for some time.

'Sorry to wake you up, dad. I know it's kind of early, but I really don't know who else to call.' He stopped. He could hear his father taking a long breath, and his eyes began to sting. 'Dad, I'm at the police station and they are going to transport me to the county jail. I've been arrested and I need a lawyer, a criminal defense lawyer.' The silence that came from the other end of the line was unbearable for Nick, who waited for the logical question with a hand over his face, covering his pink eyes. Then, when the question came, he gulped a few times, buying time. How was he supposed to answer that question without completely loosing the trust he had worked so hard to win? After his father had repeated the question again and louder, 'For what, Nicholas?', Nick whispered: 'For drugs'. Fighting the tears was getting increasingly difficult. Some more silence and, possibly, an even lower tone. 'No, I wasn't driving. I was at home, having a party with some friends. We shared some cocaine.' Again, more silence. 'All right. See you tomorrow. I will.'

Entering the walls of the jail was frightening to say the least. The delicate features of the young lawyer attracted unwanted remarks by the jailers, the nicest ones being 'You'll find what you're looking for here, sweetie' and 'Have you lost your mummy, darling?'.

Nick was brought to a windowless room where he was asked to strip off his clothes in front of a guard. Totally unaware of jail proceedings, Nick was taken aback. 'In front of you?' he asked, provoking a wild laughter. 'And how am I possibly allowed to search you if I go away?' Humiliation was much worse than any physical sensation. He kept silent during the procedure, and he kept silent as he watched his belongings being put away in a plastic zippered bag and as he put the ugly, orange jumpsuit, white socks – white socks, he could not recall a single day he had worn white socks since he had memories – and black slippers. Next he was taken to the doctor's office. He was weighed and measured, he was asked to pee in a cup, again in front of a male nurse, a strand of his hair was pulled from him and some blood was drawn from him. The nurse asked him a thousand questions about his health history and about his drug history, and he lied, of course. The jail need not need to know he had done drugs since his high school years. He said he did drug occasionally, just when he partied, which was substantially true.

He was then dragged through endless corridors as gates opened before him and closed behind, amidst whistles and such cries as 'Hey honey, do you want to share the room with me tonight?' until, finally, he was pushed into a cell and the door was locked. Panic attacked him once again. The cell was very small, and it smelled. The toilet, an iron one, was close to the bed, which was made of iron as well. Everything was very dark, and he had been warned not to switch the light on. Now he also became aware of the noises. Gates and metal doors opened and closed with loud clangs. The whistles and the remarks from the inmates had ended and they had probably gone back to sleep as all he could hear from them now was their heavy breathing sounds. He wondered who was behind the thick walls that separated his cell from the two confining ones. What were the charges of those guys? He realized that doing drugs was probably the least dangerous charge possible. In his mind, now totally clear of any influence, he imagined his neighbors as huge, mountainous men who were probably waiting for a murder trial. Not a comforting thought at all!

He threw himself onto the bed and tried to get some sleep, but he just could not. His heart was racing, and he kept thinking about the event of that night. The party was going so well. Everyone was having so much fun, and Colin, as usual, had sold him some very good stuff. He had spent quite a huge amount of money on it, but he did not care. As long as the stuff was free from unwanted side effects, he was ready to spend all the money he had left after paying the mortgage. Who had called the cops? Probably Mrs. Words, the woman who had been standing by the fence as he was being arrested. She had complained for the music once or twice, and now she had acted, causing his entire life to be shattered in mere seconds.

Nick was very angry at her. He did not feel guilty for doing coke. He knew Pittsburgh's yuppies did that, and some of them were even addicts. He wasn't. He knew that for a fact. Besides, he had always been careful not to drive when high on coke or tequila.

And then he started recalling the Call. His dad's voice, worried at first, had become increasingly disappointed. That, Nick felt guilty for. Letting his father down was something he had worked so hard to avoid. His entire life. In school he had always done his best. He had chosen Harvard over Pitt because his father would be pleased. He had worked hard to get a good job after law school, so his dad could brag about his successes and when, about four years before, Burton, his father, had hired him he had worked his ass off to do a good job and make his father proud. Accepting the job at his dad's firm had been a career suicide, but nothing counted more for Nick than pleasing Burton and making him a proud man. And he, Nicholas, had shattered everything, all the good work of his life, in less than two minutes, the length of a horrible phone call.

He knew too well how strict Burton was. Nick was sure he would not been forgiven easily and started thinking about the consequences. Jail time was not what worried him most. Sure he was as scared as he had ever been, and he just avoided thinking about the next day, when he would meet his fellow inmates, but that was just a breeze compared with meeting his dad face to face. What would his dad do? Fire him, most probably. Not wanting to see him again, highly probable. Burton probably hated him for having embarrassed him in front of his friends at the country club. He could just imagine the titles in the news the next morning: 'Lawyer son of Fallin and Associates founder arrested for drugs last night'. He had screwed everything up. He totally had destroyed a relationship that wasn't that good for a start. Nicholas fought, but he felt the warm wet tears on his face. Feeling safe in the darkness he let them run freely.


	2. Chapter 2 Burton's point of view

The phone started ringing, and, as its owner kept sleeping, it kept ringing and ringing, digging a hole into Burton's wonderful dream, until, moaning and cursing, the 60 something man raised the receiver and prepared to attack that idiot who had most certainly dialed the wrong number. Burton's parents had been dead for some years, and so had his ex-wife. He had a son, but he would rather die before asking for his father's help, so it couldn't be him.

When he picked the phone up his expressions changed from rage to dread. His son was on the other end sounding distraught, and he had to be if he had decided to call him. He imagined him all covered in bandages, like an Egyptian mummy. 'What's up son? Are you hurt?'. As his son answered him, his expression changed into disbelief. 'Arrested? Oh God, Nicholas. How could you? And for what?' As no answer came form the other end, he grew anxious, hoping he had had a bar fight, but sensing it was something worse, much worse. He could not avoid raising his voice a little. He was not angry, he was worried 'Jesus priest, Nicholas. For what?'. The poor man felt his whole world shaking. An earthquake would have been less scary. Burton knew something was not all right with Nick. Sometimes he appeared to be very hype, sometimes he was more subdued. But he had never admitted to himself that Nick might have inherited some of his mother's tendencies. Now he knew he had. He only hoped he had been pulled over, that he had not been arrested after causing an accident. 'Were you driving?' he asked him, caressing his balding head. When the answer came, he told him 'Now try to get a good sleep. Tomorrow early in the morning I'll call David Beldon, then we'll come over. Don't talk to anyone about what happened tonight. Keep your mouth shut, Nicholas. Keep your mouth shut.'

Burton dialed a new number on the phone and when a recorded voice informed him that that number no longer existed, Burton threw the phone hard on its stand and muttered : - Damn, Anne. You've been gone for twenty years and I still call you when our son's in trouble.

Burton could not get asleep again. He kept imagining his only son, the only person on this planet he really cared about, lying in a jail's bed. He had no idea how a prison looked like from the inside, but he was sure it wasn't such a great place to spend the night at. Then came the guilt. Maybe if he had not sent him to that boarding school when he was thirteen, or if he had hired him immediately after his passing the bar… and yet, Anne, Nicholas' mother, had had a perfect childhood and had been hooked on pills. Maybe it was genetic or maybe, and the anger came back, his son was just a stupid child who had not grown up and acted like a perfect idiot. He had no idea about the effects of cocaine, but he feared you got much more than what you bargained for.


End file.
